Lucky

If I knew what it was, I would say so, and deal with it accordingly, wouldn't I?

Tooth and bone, he's stupid. Lovely, but stupid. He asks me if it's an antelope and I tell him with absolute certainty that it is not an antelope. 

He is lucky he gives us gorgeous cubs, is all I'm saying.

It is finally sunny after days of rain, and the paths are already starting to dry and the sky is clear. It is promising to be a beautiful day, and my little sisters and daughters and I were planning on hunting some actual antelope later on, but now this thing has appeared and we are all tense and have sent the cubs into the high grass on the other side of the hill.

Am I sure it's not an antelope? Beautiful one, it has no legs, nor horns. And it is green. It is not an antelope. I don't know what it is. No, it could not be an elephant. It is as wide as an elephant, yes, but much shorter, has no trunk, and again, no legs. A giraffe then perhaps? I choose to lie down and inform him that there is no possibility that it is a giraffe. 

I am not saying he isn't brave, or a proper hunter when he tries, and he won his spot in the pride most fairly. His predecessor was admirably strong and quite large, but he was scarred from many hunts and fights and an encounter with a buffalo left him with a pronounced limp. I knew his time was over and began to rebuke his advances even before this one turned up, practically a cub, but oh so lovely. My little sisters and daughters and I agreed straightaway that he would do well for our pride and he has. He adores us and protects us, and we have made many fine looking cubs together.

And that is his fortune, because he is just not smart. Not that any of them are particularly wise. Not like the mothers and daughters of the pride. Most are just good looks and bluster. But this one is exceptional, as stupid as he is beautiful. And he is very beautiful.

My little sisters and my daughters are nervous. Most have gone to the high grass with the cubs but my closest sisters stay by my side. They lash their tails and watch the thing. I watch the thing as well but I am not nervous yet. And I know that he is not nervous. Nothing makes him nervous except distant roars and the occasional large moth.

He decides he will approach the thing, to get a good look and a good sniff. Fine. You do that. I will just lie here and watch. It sits upon an open path and as he walks towards it there is a creak and it shifts and shakes (as well it should, for we are formidable) and makes all sorts of noises. First a sort of wail and then a murmur and then some clicking.

The sound tickles my memory and I begin to suspect what this is. I sit up and stretch and go to follow him. My little sisters follow me. I come up to him and tell him that I think this is something that belongs to a man thing. He asks what a man thing is and I tell him it is a type of ape that likes to carry things about. He tells me that apes have legs, and I have been very insistent that this thing does not. 

How fortunate for him that his mane is so very luxurious! I tell him that I believe that the man things are hiding inside the larger green thing, like termites inside a mound. When he doesn't understand, I suggest bees within a hive. He knows what those are. We all remember when he stuck his face into one and his nose grew to twice its size.

He doesn't like being reminded of that. It doesn't look like a hive and there's no buzzing. He doesn't think they are bees. I never said they were. I just meant they were one thing, inside another thing. Man things like to live inside other things, from what I've been told.

They are a rare sight in these parts. They were more common when I was a cub, and our pride lived many days journey from here. My mother made sure to show them to my sisters and brother and I, because she thought it was important that we know of them. She knew some tales about them, passed down from her mother: some strange, some bad, nothing good. Her mother was convinced that the man things were responsible for the disappearance of her father and brother, and she taught her cubs that it was best to avoid them, no matter how hungry they might be, and my mother taught her cubs the same thing.

For this reason I suggest we all retreat to the high grass, out of sight of the green thing, but he will not be deterred. He approaches it boldly, which I have to admit is attractive, snarling and growling. My little sisters grow tense behind me and begin to move away, but I do not want to show the man things that we care anything about them. He stalks back and forth to make sure the strangers know this is his pride, and his land, and they are not welcome. After he does this for a while, he turns and comes back to me.

Even as he does, the thing roars and growls and begins to glide away from us with a scattering of stones and a foul smelling dust that makes my nose itch. He walks proudly, convinced he has intimidated it into retreat. Perhaps he did. We are intimidating. But he tells me he really doesn't think there were man things inside. It seems to him more like something a rhino would hide in.

He is so lucky he is beautiful.